Familiar Faces
by TeaOli
Summary: Ambassador Spock's attention is caught by a familiar face. A part of my "Don't Lose Your Compass" and "Then Comes Spock" 'verse, story begins two days after Spock and Uhura's wedding.
1. The Length of An Age

"Are you certain this is what you want, Ms. Boipuso? It is not too soon?"

The question could have been perceived as ridiculous coming from an elderly half-naked half-Vulcan, but he needed to be sure. The moonlight pouring through open balcony door showed that his body, though covered with pale crepe-papery skin, still housed the lean muscles of a fully human male in his prime.

She drew her drew sharp nails through the grey hair furring his chest. "I've been waiting twenty-five years for this moment, Mr. Spock. If anything, it is very close to being _too late_."

His hardened lok sprang free as he let his trousers fall to the floor and scooped her up against the chest she'd so recently been caressing.

"In that case," he told her, "I would not wish to be the one to further delay your satisfaction."

Strictly speaking, he mused as he knelt on the floor and laid her on the plush bed of his Garissa Town hotel room, one of them at least should have protested that this was happening too soon. A quick bout of sexual relations was a logical way of relieving the biological urges that his human heritage made impossible for him to completely subdue — even when he was not stripped of his logic. But as he hoped she would still be amenable to such activities over the course of the next twenty-five years, he wondered if it might be more prudent for them to spend some time getting to know one another.

"Spock," she murmured when his hands stilled halfway up her loose-fitting blouse. "You're thinking _far_ too much, darling."

Officially, he had only met her two days ago, though he'd been an admirer of her for the past five years and her face had haunted his dreams for more than a century. Even a half-Vulcan could fit quite a few erotic imaginings into a hundred-odd years. If he wanted to explore even the barest fraction of those fantasies, he would need to take his time.

Bending his head, he brushed his lips over an exposed collarbone, squeezing two overflowing handfuls of feminine flesh as he did so. He smiled into her skin when her choked gasp of pleasure met his ears and her hips bucked up off the bed.

He removed his left hand from her right breast, kissing away the sound of protest that followed. Both hands slid around her cool, damp flesh until they rested beneath the center of her back. He eased her up until she was seated and her lovely breasts were level with his face.

"Lift your arms for me please, Ms. Boipuso," he ordered. Wordlessly, she complied and he pulled the shirt over her head.

His mouth found first one, then the other lush mound topped with a hard touch-sensitive nubbin of flesh. He raked his teeth gently down one dark nipple while working it with his tongue. Her suddenly ragged breathing indicated his actions met with her approval.

"More," she managed to choke out.

Ignoring her bereaved cries, he ended the breast-play and busied his hands with the removal of her trousers. The moment she caught on, she helped by bracing her hands against his broad shoulders and lifting her bottom.

He trailed biting kisses over her hips and down her thighs as he slid her pants off. Much to her frustration, he avoided the dampened seam at her center. She tried pressing her legs together in hopes of gaining some small measure of relief, but he only spread them even farther apart and brought his nose within millimeters of her throbbing sex and breathed in. But he didn't deign to touch her yet.

"Spock!" she protested.

He leaned closer and his tongue darted out to skim along the vulnerable skin she usually kept hidden. He darted away again just as quickly.

"A moment, Astra," he said, bending his head again, this time to suckle on the nerve-filled bud peeking out at him. He slid two fingers along the trail his tongue had abandoned for more valuable prey.

She didn't quite bite back a scream when the two fingers began dipping in and out of her in time with the ministrations of his tongue on her clit.

"Gah!" she managed, literally biting her tongue. Then, when the combined sensations swelled to tsunami dimensions, "Spock! Ah. Ahhh! Oh, Gods, Spock! Spock!" And she came down again, and found that her fingers where tangled in non-longer smoothly-styled steel grey hair, "Spock… ah… oh, Spock…. gods, Spock."

He joined her on the bed, and curled himself around her. There were no sweet nothings whispered in her ears, but he stroked her arms and radiated calm and comfort and protection and… desire and possessiveness? … and then, amusement when he sensed her amazement. It took less time than she would have expected before _that _and the hard lok pressing against her thighs made her ready once more.

"Again," she ordered.

"It is too soon, Ms. Boipuso. Your body needs time to recover, or it will be over too quickly," he pointed out.

"Twenty-five _years_, Mr. Spock," she reminded him.

"Four times that and more, Ms. Boipuso," he confessed.

Her mouth gaped, her eyes were wide. "_That_ long?"

"Indeed," he agreed.

And then she was smiling again. That teasing, seductive smile he'd seen so often across recreation rooms and once, even on the bridge of a starship.

"Well," she said, licking her delectable lips, "in that case, you'd better hurry, hadn't you Mr. Spock?"

"Just this once, Ms. Boipuso."

He slid in and felt her clenching around him, already close to the edge.

Though his internal clock told him otherwise, it seemed as if mere seconds passed before he felt the undulating muscle contractions that heralded her second climax.

True to his promise, the next time took a great deal longer.

* * *

**A/N:** Written for at the request of recumbentgoat on lj, who hangs mostly in the TOS pages here.

**A/N addendum:** Their first face-to-face meeting occurred in _Beneath the New Vulcan Moon_. Find it at s/5495972/1/Beneath_the_New_Vulcan_Moon.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Trek, not even "Astra Boipuso."


	2. Enough and More

"I loved him until the day he died and beyond that, but it was meeting you that first opened my eyes to the possibility that he could be more than a desirable ally and a skilled bedmate." Astra turned her face from the moon hanging in the sky beyond the window of Spock's hotel suite and wrapped her arms around her tiny body.

"I'm not her," she said softly. "Just as you are not him."

From across the sitting room, Spock's eyes traveled over the face of this woman who was in so many ways as familiar to him as the image he saw in the mirror. Her voice had trembled as she reminded him that, in truth, she was something — some_one_ — else, altogether. He heard the question she had not asked.

"No," he agreed, stepping slightly closer. "I am not him, and you are not her. Does that lessen what is between us?"

He wanted her to tell him "No, it doesn't matter at all," but he was reluctant to influence her in any way, so he kept his face as impassive as his voice had been.

Astra's gaze turned inward and, unconsciously, she swayed toward him, her eyes closed.

Spock waited. Over a century of longing had taught him the value of patience.

Eventually, she opened her eyes and smiled her familiar smile and walked across the room and straight into his arms.

"No," she said into the fabric of his tunic, "it doesn't matter at all."

* * *

**A/N:** Just a short bit to keep you going until I write the next big chapter. Some of you have already guessed Astra's secret identity. Others have not. Please, if you know, or even just _think_ you know, please don't spoil it for the rest.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters and concepts. (Not even Astra Boipuso!)


	3. Doing Her Will

She was not making an effort. He could tell. Most nights, she matched him caress for caress, kiss for kiss. Tonight, she made-do with a few cursory sweeps of her palms against his chest hair. Something wasn't right.

Her lack of participation did not appear to indicate that she lacked interest. Her soft moans and serpentine writhing told him that much. But she neither tore at his hair nor grabbed his lok. Something was amiss.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, after disengaging his tongue from her sweet mouth. "Do you want me to stop?"

The glare that met his question was more than answer enough. He bent to take an erect nipple between his teeth. There was usually very little real benefit in denying her; he'd learned that lesson relatively early. The fruits of compliance were, by way of contrast, many and varied.

As if on cue, a small cry announced her pleasure.

"Good?"

"Mmmm," was all he got in response. He redoubled his efforts at pleasuring her.

Fingers slid down her cool smooth skin to join his tongue and teeth in the sublime endeavor.

Within ten minutes, she rewarded him by arching against him — her body rose completely off the bed, so that only her head and toes touched the mattress — crying out his name.

As the quakes began the subside, he cradled her in his arms, pressed soft kisses to her temple. His lok, left untouched while she'd found her bliss, throbbed when she brushed against it in the midst of a languid stretch. He doubted she even noticed.

"What do you plan on doing to me next?" she asked some time later, after catching her breath.

"_To_ you?" he queried, raising an eyebrow even though with her back to his chest she was unable to see him. "I have no intention of doing anything _to_ you. However, there are still a great many things I would like to do _with_ you, if you are amenable to experimentation."

She snorted in frustration and he quickly ran through a staggering list of ways in which he might have caused offense.

"Sometimes I just like it when you take charge," she explained, as if she had read his mind. "It's _sexy_."

"You don't always feel that way," he stubbornly pointed out. "I have heard you call it arrogance or high-handedness."

"I _said_ 'sometimes.' This is one of those times."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I'm fairly certain that only last week you asked me to read an article about the shared joys of equality in the bedro—."

"I'll let you know when I'm in the mood for making love," she purred, the hint of exasperation in her voice keeping the words from sounding like a promise. "Right now, I just want you to fuck me."

He eyed her for a moment, considering his options. Taking in the tension coiled in her lithe form, he decided easy capitulation was in order.

"Very well," he said, and turned from the bed. He was halfway across the room before she called out to him.

"Wait!" He turned back and her awkward clamber into a sitting position made him bite back a smile. "Where do you think you're going?"

At that, he _did_ smile. "You want me to be 'in charge,' do you not?"

She grimaced at him. "Uh.. _yes_. I. Do." Each word was pushed out from between clenched teeth with a sarcasm that made his shoulders shake with amusement.

"Then I am merely fulfilling your wishes." He turned away again. As he began striding toward the bathroom door again, he could hear her coming to her feet on the bed.

"I meant I want you to be 'in charge' in. The. Bed!"

.

.

The floor tiles were frigid under his bare feet. His naked skin felt the absence of warm blankets and her warmer body. A sudden shiver left him smiling to himself. He would not be cold for long.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters and concepts. (Not even Astra Boipuso!)


	4. Wicked Game

Curiosity got the better of her more quickly than she liked to admit was possible. But then, even when she'd been a barbaric savage, he'd been impossible to resist.

She was off the bed and at the bathroom door in seconds.

.

He was beautiful.

Not many would use that word to describe her lover.

She looked beyond the outer packaging — though that held an appeal of its own — to see an allure no human man could ever inspire.

Lean muscle corded under skin that had loosened and rippled with age. His thick hair, though no longer a dark shining cap, remained precisely — even severely — cut, a visual reminder of the controlled power he possessed.

Long fingers curled around the warmest part of him as water turned silver hair dark grey and cascaded over broad shoulders and dripped down thighs that made her mouth run dry.

"Astra Boipuso." Her startled eyes flew up to meet his. She'd been too captivated by the motion of his right hand — sliding up and down, squeezing, his thumb tracing lazy circles — to notice he was watching her watch him. "Join me."

Without saying another word, he compelled her to heed his order, made her _want_ to obey.

She stepped forward.

.

.

She had followed him, as he had known she would. He did not stop the motion of his hand against his lok. Her lips parted as her hungry eyes were inevitably drawn back to the thick, green-tinged appendage.

"Say it," he ordered, purposely deepening his voice just watch her shiver.

She looked up at him, eyes wide with confusion, pupils dilated with yearning.

"Say…?"

He slid the long fingers of his left hand around her waist, then down to caress her deliciously rounded coi'alar and draw her slightly closer.

"You did not say 'please,' Astra Boipuso," he murmured.

"Please?" she snorted, derision replacing desire. "You expect me to _beg_ you to give me what you so clearly need to give." Impatient eyes flicked down to his tumescent lok.

She missed the smile tugging at his lips.

"If you do not ask nicely, I shall continue as I have begun," he told her. His hand closed around his member again, squeezing as he moved up its length. With no small measure of satisfaction, he noticed her tongue dart out to the corner of her mouth.

"You wouldn't dare!" Astra stamped one small foot. The sound was almost lost under the rush of water.

"Indeed I would," he told her. "You pronounced a desire for me to be 'in charge' during this encounter. I am fully capable of controlling of my own climax."

He ran his thumb over his lok'um and did not deign to suppress the shudder of pleasure he brought himself.

.

Her feet slipped out from under her. Before she could fall to the hard shower floor, strong hands were gripping her hips and lifting.

With effortless strength, he held her motionless, centimeters above the head of his cock. Deep green veins throbbed against paler skin pulled taut as he continued to grow for her. She couldn't move her eyes from its masculine beauty. She couldn't stop her legs from instinctively moving to wrap around his waist.

"No." His denial made her fingers ache to clutch and claw over him, forcing him closer, to give her the fulfillment only he could provide. "Say '_please_,' Ms. Boipuso," he said again.

Astra trembled in his hands and strained forward in spite of his directive. Her hands gripped his shoulders, reveling in the play of muscle beneath crepe-paper skin. She bit down on her tongue, refusing to give in to the demand.

He leaned forward, just out of the stream of warm water — still holding her pussy just out of reach of his shaft — and, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear, growled, "Say it!"

"Please, Mr. Spock," she managed, dismayed to find her voice was a whimper. "Please fuck me!"

He stood in the center of the shower cubicle, his legs braced apart, his eyes burning into hers. Triceps bulged as he lowered her onto his throbbing cock, then slowly pulled her up. All thought of embarrassment fled. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and he was filling her, slowly dragging her off then filling her again. Over and over. The sensation of his hair-roughened skin against her silken smoothness heightened the already overwhelming pleasure.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't snatch enough air to fill her lungs.

Until she _was_ air, expanding, exploding, molecules rushing apart in dance of light and heat.

.

.

Astra convulsed around his lok, the muscles of her keshtan-ur coaxing him towards completion. He held back, delaying his dan-sanosh'guv. Her climax had come more quickly than in their previous encounters, but he was not ready to end this joining.

Spock slid her up his length again, holding her poised at the pinnacle of his lok for several moments before plunging her back down once more. Her choked cry set him in motion, finding a new rhythm timed to pulse of her keshtan-ur. Every hard thrust making her tremble and sob, begging him for release, entreating him to stop, commanding him to _never stop_.

"Manners, Ms. Boipuso," he admonished, "are of utmost importance." But, compliance was appealing. He bent almost double, teeth scraping over dark, protruding nipples to elicit a guttural, approving moan. She shattered against him again, and still, he maintained the steady cadence that would push them both over the edge.

Astra gasped out her third and fourth orgasms before Spock let go of the last of his control.

He captured her lips with his, pouring a roar of triumph down her throat as his throbbing lok pumped stream after searing stream of sa-nei-masu into her keshtan-ur.

.

.

She didn't know how long she slept, but the moon was rising when she opened her eyes to find him watching her. Heavy limbs and a sense of deep satisfaction made her loath to move, but memory followed quickly on the heels of consciousness. Her heart lurched.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Spock raised a brow, the gesture all the more painful in its familiarity.

"For what?"

Astra couldn't meet his gaze any longer, so she gazed at the moon.

"I shouldn't have made you do that," she said. "I've tried so hard not to be… what I was."

She felt his warm fingers grasping her chin, turning her head until she had no choice but to look into his… _sparkling_, _mischief-filled_ eyes!

"My beautiful, glorious, star of freedom," he crooned, reaching across the cool sheets to touch her cheek, "did you hear me complaining?"

* * *

**A/N:** The word "dan-sanosh'guv' is my personal translation for "orgasm." You're unlikely to find it in any dictionary. I used the prefix _dan-_ (superlative), added _sanosh_ (pleasure) and compounded them with a shortened form of _guvik_ (sexual). "Keshtan-ur" is the clinical term for "vagina" and "sa-nei-masu" means "semen." "Um" means "tip" or "apex."

**EDIT****:** It seemed only fitting to rename this chapter for the song that inspired me to finish it. Thanks to Chris Isaak and to the women of Writers Anonymous.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters or concepts.


	5. Consequential Choices

"Easier said than done" was the common phrase, and Spock was far too wise to even make an attempt at postponing his efforts to _do_. A century and more of longing was not a simple thing to dismiss, and he had no desire to make his life any more complicated than it already was. He had wasted too much time in the past, in another universe; he would not make that mistake now, in this reality.

She stood by the window, watching Luna rise. As had become her habit, she raised a finger to chart its shape on the glass.

"I am grateful for the time you have given me, Ms. Boipuso," he said without preamble. "I do not wish for our association to end."

"And yet tomorrow you will be gone, Mr. Spock." She didn't turn from the view, or from her languid tracing of the moon.

He stepped closer, but she was still too far away.

"I have commitments I cannot ignore at this time."

He moved forward again.

"As do I." Her hand fluttered down to her side, and in that small gesture he read decades of despair and defeat.

His next step took him to her side.

"But when we have both fulfilled our obligations?" He watched the rising moon instead of her face, illogically afraid of what he might see if he looked at her.

As the silence began to lengthened beyond what most humans would consider polite — or even comfortable — he felt his fear stretch and grow. Just because he had believed there was a connection, no matter that she had agreed that what they had found was enough… he was not _him_ and she was not _her_ and sometimes humans needed a great deal more time to decide what they found acceptable.

Lost in trepidation, he had long since lost awareness of his internal sense of the passage of time when he felt her half turn towards him, canting her head twenty-seven degrees away from where he stood as his eyes finally braved her face.

"The bride's parents seemed very much in love," she said.

Her non sequitur was jarring and he took no small measure of time — time he found he was still incapable of accounting for — to respond.

"I did not spend much time observing them, but they did appear content in their union," he conceded rather than probing the direction of her thoughts.

She turned away again, her eyes quickly finding the moon again, her hand automatically rising to the glass in pursuit of its course.

"Did she ever speak about them?"

_Ahh_, he thought, suspecting he was beginning to understand.

"Only twice. She was sixteen when M'Umbha died. The memories she shared with me were more often of Benjamin alone."

The woman at his side nodded slowly, the motion of her head matching the speed of her finger on the glass.

"It was a love match, she told me," he continued. "Unexpected. Forbidden, actually. He grieved for her until he also died."

"My parents also loved," Astra said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. It was lower still when she added, "But their… union was not unexpected or forbidden. They were brought together by design. The love they bore one another was inconsequential to anyone beyond themselves. And their children."

He wrapped himself around her, hoping his heat and presence would soothe the infinitesimal shaking of her body.

"I think he and I were brought together by design, although we didn't love before I met _you_ and he met _her_," she said. A choked sob punctuated her words. "Our love was not inconsequential. He paid for it with his life."

Spock held her close as sorrow and fear wracked her small form. Then, when it seemed as if the outpouring of grief would not end quickly, he lifted her in his arms and carried her over to a chair by the bed.

She wept, and acting on a memory from his long ago childhood, he rocked back and forth until she quieted and the trembling abated.

The moon had moved beyond the view of the window before he spoke again.

"We are neither of us in the worlds we once knew," he said, hoping she would understand his meaning. Wishing to know that his words brought her comfort.

"When our obligations have been fulfilled," she said, "you must ask me to come to you."

* * *

**A/N:** There is only one chapter after this one, and even that might seem a little _familiar_ to those of you who are familiar with my other fics.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters and concepts. Not even Astra Boipuso.


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